The Hawk and the Nightingale
by Ecthelion3
Summary: Ambition can do strange things to a man.  Starts right after 5th year featuring an emerging Harry, an aggressive Dumbledore, a motivated Lupin, and a more than capable Order taking on a Voldemort that you perhaps haven't seen yet.
1. Chapter 1

A/N - Hey everyone, this is the first time I've written in a long time but I hope you enjoy what I came up with. Any reviews, be it dissenting or applauding, are more than welcome. I read every single one of them and will respond. The rating may go up to Mature later, as this will be an intense and action-packed fic, but we'll see. Enjoy!

**The Hawk and the Nightingale**

_Chapter One_

Moments where wizards bypassed magic tended to be ones of a distinctly intimate tone. The conscious choice of leaving the wand aside, or perhaps a wave of the hand from the more talented – leaves an action that is instantly noted by all present and often carries significant meaning.

If someone were to unknowingly drop a quill, it would be exceedingly easy to flick one's wand - even from a decent distance - to help the person. Any wizard or witch could relate a number of times when an object, unknowingly dropped by them, was suddenly levitated in front of them with no clue as to who did it. However, in walking over, bending down to pick up the quill, and getting to the person to physically hand the quill back, extreme significance has occurred.

As a result, when Albus Dumbledore sat up from his desk to grab sugar for her tea, Minerva McGonagall - no matter how many times he did so - could not help but be touched deeply. Such an immensely magical person, walking over and performing such rudimentary acts such as grabbing a sugar cup... it was jarringly tender. It was this, amongst other reasons, why their monthly tea times - running 30 years strong - were undoubtedly one of her favorite activities.

Despite strong backbones of anti-muggle sentiments throughout the wizarding world's customs, it was a strangely ironic, McGonagall mused, that many of the most intimate and coveted moments between wizards were distinctly "muggle."

A man such as Albus showcased care in unconventional ways, but McGonagall noted them and was unwaveringly grateful. She herself, a notoriously closed person, rarely disclosed personal benevolence. As Albus made his way over to their sitting area, another aspect of the mutual intimacy of the moment occurred to her. Albus happened to be privy to her little, albeit deep-harbored secret of hers, that she drank tea with an embarrassing amount of sugar.

One time, upon accidently drinking a sip of her tea, Severus had gagged and said something to the extent of "supersaturated," and "It's actually crunchy..." Whatever he had meant by such exclamations, she wouldn't let such comments get to her.

The sudden arrival of Albus and the sugar cup (with the same amount of sugar as last time, she noted), jolted her out of her thoughts. Albus soon sat down, showing no signs that should have been present of old age.

She waited for the familiar atmosphere to settle down upon them - Albus sitting at his desk and Minerva sitting directly in front. She never could quite shake off the feeling of her the student and him the teacher even after 30 years. Sometimes it took a while for them to talk; sometimes conversation would start instantly - usually her being the instigator in either case. Today was one of those silent days... she always dreaded these days - not because it was awkward or anything - but as she took her first sip of her tea...

Crunch… crunch, crunch...

Minerva winced inside as the reverberations of her cherished crystals sped all across the room, echoing in the overwhelming silence as though someone had just apparated in the room. She had tried everything - her being a fairly brilliant logician, had tried chewing really fast, chewing really slow, even sloshing it around in her mouth for a while in order to dissolve the damn things but it never worked... she had resolved to simply chewing normally, but the experience was always a bit painful. How she managed (at least she thought) to keep her face straight when dealing with this experience, she'd never know. She could have sworn one of the instruments on Albus' desk measured vibrations...

"Did you know sugar is used to harden asphalt?" Albus intoned with a suspiciously un-twinkling eye.

Minerva merely continued crunching and duly noted that it was in fact him that had spoken first for once. One point for me... eighteen thousand for him...

She reclined slightly, easing her still sore body from the four stunners she had taken only days ago, reveling in the silence that had settled over them, of a distinctly more pensive tone then before.

Silence.

One of the greatest litmus tests of all time for relationships. Truth and realization comes with silence - swifter and clearer than any formation of words could ever hope to accomplish. How much can be understood without words? How uncomfortable? Strange how fanciful politics of etiquette dissipate completely while the issues at hand come to the forefront of persons' mind. Oftentimes, with the more in-tune of companions the topic that they both wished to talk about - known or unbeknownst to the parties involved beforehand - comes bursting out with the unspoken confirmation of what's it is.

As this particular humankind phenomena came to fruition, tiny dust shards of broken silver instruments pillowed ever so slightly across the ornately marbled floor. They heralded the start of a long, painful conversation about the young man dominating their minds.

The prophecy child. The Chosen One. Harry.

A lot had happened lately.

Harry Potter woke up to the eerie silence of the early morning - forbidding yet nonthreatening.

He had woken up instantly aware of his settings and privy to clear thoughts so Harry knew that getting further sleep would be a futile effort. Without any grogginess he sat up and deftly swung out of the covers. Some days one simply woke up with a purpose.

Ron wasn't snoring, although his mouth was open as though ready to start the process at any moment. Judging by how wide open his mouth was, Harry garnered that if he were to start snoring, it was probably going to be epic. A quick silencing charm for the benefit of his roommates just managed to precede his feet hitting the cold, granite floor. Everyone else was fast asleep – as they should be. A rush of gratitude and shame came to him as he saw Neville, still sleeping in a position that belied his Department of Mysteries injuries. Harry's eyes flickered to the red marks on Ron's face, now fading. Harry had been the only one to escape unscathed.

Yet why did he feel so scarred?

Harry got dressed in some every day robes and made his way to the common room. It was a mess. Evidence of the frenzy of final exams were everywhere – notecards, discarded quills, spilled inks, papers lying in between furniture – Harry even spied a fallen bishop from the common room chess set sitting on the floor, valiantly trying to find its way back up to the table. Harry walked over and scooped up the endeavoring maverick, "Thank you kind sir! If you could return me to B7…" which Harry promptly obeyed.

He stood quizzically at the board for a moment contemplating the paused game. It seemed to be fairly well along, although not many pieces had been taken. The white side had lost a little more pieces, most notably a knight, but the whole board was quite spread. The black royal pieces were clustered together whereas the white royal pieces were quite sparse. Harry deemed it would take a masterful player to read this board, there were a host of options and threats from any direction.

The flickering light upon the pieces suddenly caught his attention and he spun to its source – the fire – the only light source after two in the morning. Harry closed his eyes in painful remembrance. When he slowly opened them he had to consciously fight to not hope he would once again see Sirius' face flickering handsomely. Sure enough, the same faceless, flickering fire sat silently.

Strange how a mood change can alter the perception of an entire room. Previously unnoticed, the enormous Gryffindor red curtains swayed ominously, creating monsters out of shadows. How many times had Sirius walked, joked, and lived in this very room? Did he have the same bed as Harry? What of his father?

Heavy thoughts for early mornings.

Harry found himself biting his lip as his previously pensive demeanor began to be overwhelmed. He was by no means a stranger to sadness, disappointment, or loss. The past two years had made this obvious and his childhood was rife with it. Eleven years of having anything good he had done, good he had found, or good he was reaching for snatched violently away by the Dursleys had made him well acquainted, oh yes. When Ron had deserted him last year, it was maddening but ultimately he found it unsurprising. Same with the Firebolt. He'd simply been in that situation before – many times – and he had thought himself impervious to the surprise of it all.

But with Sirius, was it any different?

Yes… It definitely was.

He was… a link to his parents, a confident, a friend, a person to make him laugh and stand up for him…

Harry swallowed awkwardly and walked through the portrait door. The Fat Lady, watching the entire spectacle and knowing things that well connected portraits do, did not wait for the young man to ask passage but instead swung open to let him through. She'd seen him when he'd come to the dormitory a few days ago… such tragically sad eyes…

The brisk air of the corridors made Harry painstakingly aware of the wetness of his eyes. He continued walking.

Autopilot guided him to a remote, empty corridor on the sixth floor. The corridor was stunningly quiet. No portraits marred his thankful feeling of solitude and Filch's feline menace was nowhere to be seen.

He looked around. Not once in his five years had he bothered to truly look at the hallways of Hogwarts. Almost all main corridors, such as this one, followed a general circular pattern around the castle, and this one was no different. What he noticed was that the ceiling and the outside wall were not solid rock, but large, dark blocks. The large hewn blocks of dark granite were at least 8 feet long and 3 feet wide, interwoven with unnatural precision. The floor and inside wall, however, were solid rock. Had roughly half of Hogwarts been carved out of a mountain of stone? The majesty of the feat left him breathless.

Had young Tom Riddle too, when passing these halls as a teenager thought of the same thing? His breath hitched but he continued the thought. Surely, he had to have, a loner who had found the Chamber of Secrets with an intellect almost as legendary as Dumbledore's.

It took a couple more seconds for Harry to register his newfound feelings as fear.

Oh yes he felt fear. And an impressive amount of it, to boot. Harry had always been oppressed, never brought up in an environment to see a means to an end. He was an epitomized product of not acting in any sort of methodology but to survive. He was a survivor, this much was evident. Living in a cupboard underneath stairs under constant scrutinization – with physical consequences – had a way of making you see openings where others only saw enclosed spaces. The Hogwarts years had only honed these skills.

This enclosed space, this metaphorical cupboard, however was much different. Mortality suddenly became a keenly aware concept. He had seen the duel between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord – epic and extraordinarily beyond his imagining and certainly his talents. The hate Voldemort possessed for him was electric in its intensity, backed by his immense power. Harry was an object of endless fascination for him, an object to be humiliated and destroyed. What was he to do? There was no option in this matter, not only had this fascination matured into a deadly manhunt, but it was prophesized to be so.

Unfairness was never something Harry used in his vocabulary, having grown up with the concept intimately, so it was not what described this situation. The word that did come to mind was hopeless. He could basically hear and see the cackling emanate from the opaque face of Voldemort, red eyes gleaming with masochist glee. Such reckless, relentless hate rendered him nearly immobile. It was suffocating him, a million formless thoughts of guilt, insecurity, and fear flitted through his mind like a non-uniform kaleidoscope as his knees began to sink to the ground.

His wand however was gripped tightly in his hand.

Amidst the spinning conglomeration of thoughts he suddenly latched onto something solid, stationary, and bright – his parents. The great James Potter and the brilliant and beautiful Lily Potter – had been in this very position and had chosen to not bow, but fight. Voldemort himself had commented on the resiliency and proudness of James' last stand and Lily's last stand's testament was himself. Sirius too had gone down fighting, one of the last left even when Mad Eye Moody himself had been taken out long before. Another feeling began to drive out the fear in his heart - pride. It was no longer a fight of survival, but of vengeance. He no longer wanted to simply get by, or rely on his so-called infamous luck, but he wanted to excel… at everything. He now had the end, and the means.

So at this moment, Harry lifted his emotion-laden eyes, piercing the shroud of fear around him and saw the open Hogwarts corridor in front of him.

Hope.

He stood up.

Magic had been the one thing that had given Harry - if for a brief respite his first year - the idea that there was something to strive for besides survival. As Harry walked with tangible purpose through the corridor, a clarity born of ambition came upon him. He began to detect the subtle administrations of his persona by the Dursley's "care," Voldemort's obsession, Dumbledore's intentional or unintentional manipulations, and even the unintended shaping from Ron's ambivalent attitude towards school and Hermione's constant source of information instead of himself...

None of this made him mad, it wasn't their fault.

It had just made him weak.

Harry latched onto the first feeling of magic he had when vanishing the glass at the zoo, the feeling of apparating as a child, and completing his first wingardium leviosa spell. That feeling, the exhilarating rush of unbridled possibility and power - magic - could and would take him to the place he needed to be.

His steps became faster.

The ability to say words and produce magic... the novelty of it once again ignited his body as he straightened his back and cast a powerful Lumos! that immediately created a blazing light that lit up the entire length of the corridor.

His mind fresh from introspection buzzed with newfound creativity and intuition. How could he make it more powerful? What made the light brighter at times and dimmer others? Could he cast it nonverbally? Without a wand? Where would the light come from if he did? Could he only light certain areas of a room? If he were casting a stunner without a wand, was the aiming done consciously in his mind or with the point of his wand? Both? Could one cast two spells at one time? Perhaps string or combine spells together?

Harry's heart began to beat faster in such a way that perhaps only Quidditch and Cho a couple times had done before. He had found his edge, enthusiasm coupled with a goal – not merely survival, but succeeding.

A variety of corridors circled the castle, a smaller sum traveled relatively perpendicular to these, and only a few went straight to the library… but right now at this particular spot he was at, only one led to the Headmaster's office. 

Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair long after Minerva McGonagall had left. This tension in the air… he'd felt it before and he knew what it meant too. He'd felt this before the first war against Voldemort, before Grindenwald's declaration of war in 1939, and before in his younger days when a less talented Dark Lord that had a propensity for finding talent and exterminating it declared himself. There was no mistaking it; war was on the horizon and brewing fast. There was no other feeling quite like it – a certain static electricity tangible everywhere that made even non-sentient beings acutely aware of something happening.

Silence hung a little heavier these days.

He closed his eyes.

Centaur herds were migrating to the northeast hills of the Forbidden Forest – a centaur sanctuary of a sort. The Acromantulas were getting more and more restless and the Merpeople were rarely seen above water at all these days. Giants in the north were being spotted in increasing numbers and showed alarming signs of uncharacteristic organization. Dementors tugged dangerously on their restraints at Azkaban while in the middle of this silent crawling mess laid the docile, dawdling Ministry of Magic.

If one wishes to see danger before any other, turn to nature. If one is walking in a forest and all noises are suddenly gone – nature is telling you something. Centaurs never move to the northeast hills for no reason.

Mars has been bright lately.

Before, when he had first battled with a Dark Lord, it had been with Gellert Grindenwald at his side. The Dark Lord – Sajvan – had a respectable host of followers and was systematically finding talent and simply eradicating it so there'd be no others close to his power. Eventually, he came to Gellert's home – as they expected – where they both met and handily defeated him. The feeling before that fight and war had been different – he had faced the impending doom with the alacrity of youth and a steadfast, equally talented ally.

When this ally turned enemy and he once again faced possible disaster, it was with full knowledge – almost too much – of his enemy and he was at the height of his powers. He knew he was greater than Gellert and he knew in a battle of intellectual wits he had always been the greatest. Gellert's defeat was inevitable once he had gotten a hold of himself mentally, despite the enormous difficulty he knew it would entail. He did, Albus mused, allow himself to use darker spells those days.

Tom Riddle was a whole other story. He was not Gellert – whose evil intelligence was masterful and systematic – but had an equal intelligence that was conniving, clever, and unhinging in its reckless hate. Never is a man more dangerous than when he has bouts of insanity, and while Tom possessed the ability to use cold calculation, he was without a doubt insane. The amount of cruelty he could do knew no bounds.

And so the first war began. Tom was unyieldingly aggressive, yet despite his disappearance for years, he still could perceive Tom as relatively predictable. The Ministry was not nearly so inadequate and he had a host of great new talent coming from the youth in the form of James Potter, Lily Potter, Sirius Black, the Prewetts, the Longbottoms, and others. The outlook was still bleak, but the war's forces were relatively equal.

The same could not be said now. He had not been docile the past years and had uncovered a variety of hurdles that would be required to take down Tom. Even he hesitated to call him Tom, as the man now barely possessed enough human in him – about one sixth or seventh he mused – to be anything but "Voldemort." Second chances were his forte, but even he knew Tom was simply too far gone.

The impressive youth of the last war were all but decimated and their descendants – so few they were – were underdeveloped and lacked the luster of their parents. Of the surviving heroes of the war only Mad Eye, Remus, Hagrid, and a few others could vouch for respectable fighting form at the moment. Impressive figures of Kingsley Shacklebolt, Madame Bones, Nymphadora Tonks, and a few precious others came to mind. The staff of Hogwarts had only strengthened over the years, but their availability was severely limited by their teaching duties. Children were always the main priority. Magical creatures could not be counted on to fight – the ministry and its archaic measures against "non-human" creatures had probably long alienated them these past 15 years. The past two days he'd been everywhere in the Ministry, starting the seedlings of change that would hopefully formulate into some sort of resistance, but he knew it was too late.

He opened his eyes.

Not for the first time he wished Gellert could have quenched his thirst for power and they could have wrought beautiful changes to the world. Such a lost opportunity, but Albus did not linger over such thoughts, as he'd long ago put this pang out of his major worries. Right now he was only painfully aware of that fact that he needed a lot of somebodies, or someone to help even the tide of this war. His age truly wore upon him as he contemplated the current state of things.

They were going to lose.

For all his brilliance, this was certain. Something drastic needed to happen or be done, but he was currently at a loss of what to do. He had plans – oh yes he had plans – plans upon plans that ranged from wild time turner ones to political exile but he needed some sort of heralding event to dictate his path of action.

An instrument on his desk gave a light puff of smoke and he immediately cast the spell to see who was at his door.

Hmm.

He gave a quick head nod to the Stone Gargoyles jutting out of an enormous chandelier above him whom immediately told their companions at the front door to let the young man in.

The pace and surety that Harry walked in with gave him immediate pause. Harry never came in with such calculated poise. Normally he walked in with that strange ability of being right in front of you but somehow garnering almost no attention. His eyes however, as fetchingly green as the always were, were what caught his attention the most. That look in them gave him a surge of warmth – hope – and he instantly recognized the look Harry wore for it was the same he himself had every time he set upon something… and succeeded.

Albus smiled.

"What can I do for you Harry?"

"I'm not sure."

Following a relatively dramatic, and if Albus was honest with himself, possibly life-changing entrance this was not the reply he had been expecting. Overall, a pleasant surprise from the young Potter.

"The wisest men know what they don't."

Harry nodded in affirmation, "Yes, Headmaster. That's been pretty clear lately… I was wondering, do you mean to send me back to the Dursleys again?"

There was no venom in his voice, no warning that the conversation could escalate to the destruction of his instruments once more. He was asking like an adult, as an adult. He could honor that.

"I'm afraid so Harry. I'm aware of their… disposition towards you and I've spoken to the Order to have a few words with them. I also intend to speak my mind to them as well some point this summer."

Harry merely stared at him. Clearly he was expecting an explanation.

Interesting.

Harry had indeed changed.

"The fact remains, Harry, that your Aunts blood provides you more protection than anywhere."

"What about Hogwarts, Professor?"

"Tom Riddle… spent much of his time wandering the halls of this school. It is my belief he considers it what can only be loosely defined as a 'home' for him. As such, he no doubt has intimate knowledge of this school and can probably find a way in."

"Myself and the other professors," he said to interrupt Harry's yet unsaid question, "will not be present in the school very often as we have a lot of work cut out for us given the recent state of matters and therefore cannot provide our normal protection."

Harry could not fully hide the feeling of desperation in his eyes and stood silently.

"So I will be at the Dursley's all summer?"

"Yes."

"Will I be guarded there too or will the blood protection be enough."

"Yes, you will be guarded. The blood protection should be sufficient but one can never be sure."

"Can I communicate freely?"

"Barely. There are more ways then one to tamper and read owl mail."

"Can I leave the house?"

"Within a mile."

"That leaves me the Dursley's house – which means my room – and a single park, Professor. For the whole summer."

"I'm sorry Harry… there is no other alternative."

Harry once again simply stared at him. Once again expecting an explanation.

Very interesting.

"The options would be the Grimmauld Place or The Burrow. The Grimmauld Place is an unknown factor until," here Dumbledore paused for a fractional second. Taking a leap of intuition he guessed treading softly in a situation like this would be insulting, so he continued "Sirius' will is made concrete."

He paused a second to let Harry process, or gain what control he needed.

"The Burrow is too well known and the fact that there are so many children raise the risk of ferreting out the general location – despite a Fidelus Charm – and the resources of protecting all the people who would be privy to the Fidelus secret would be... immense."

"So basically the blame should be put on Mrs. Weasley for having so many children?" Harry asked.

"Obviously" smiled Albus, appreciating this side of Harry.

Harry seemed unable to contain a sigh, despite his appreciative humor.

"Can I bring some books from the library?"

Albus pinned Harry's eyes with his own. Only a select few students had garnered the nerve to ask him this question and none had returned the following summer – whether it had been granted or not – unchanged. Albus considered for a second using Leglimency but knew he didn't need to. There was desire in Harry's eyes – definitely enough to be dangerous – but along with it was a pure unaltered need, unaffected by the smoldering craving for power that was always so evident in Tom's eyes.

"Yes Harry… I'll let Madam Pince know immediately and please do not mention this to others – including your friends."

Harry shot a significant look at him but nodded.

Dumbledore could only nod in affirmation, but inside was seeing the first steps of ascending to power – the inevitable concentration on oneself left drastic and significant decisions to be made on those around you, including your friends.

Or, he mused sadly, in the case of family.

"And sir, if it were possible to practice magic this summer I – "

"That would be a flat no Harry. As logical and needful as it may seem, the Ministry is absolutely unyielding in relinquishing that form of control, particularly around you. I have no say in it."

Harry nodded slowly still with no defiance, "I understand sir… I'll take my leave now."

"I appreciate you talking to me Harry, more than you know. Come anytime you want."

Harry nodded once more.

Albus felt inspired to say one more thing, "Harry."

He turned around.

"Whatever type of blame you are laying on yourself please remember that at a fair amount, if not the significant amount of blame lies with me."

Only the baby Fawkes could be heard cooing in its roost.

"I… don't know what to say sir. I know I am to blame and I'm trying to accept that."

"But thank you."

Both stayed in their places thinking heavy thoughts, the fact that it was 3 in the morning seemed to have escaped both of them.

"Professor?"

"Yes Harry?"

"If I were to… cast a Stunner wandlessly, where would the spell come from?"

Albus smiled at the inquisitiveness, inwardly thanking Harry for the intellectual distraction.

"It depends Harry, on where you wish it to come from."

"So… the wand is simply a focal point?"

Albus noted eagerly the jump of several correct assumptions in making this statement, but amended "As well as a scaling conduit Harry, but you may wish to pick up a book on Wand Physics for that."

"So in theory I could cast a Stunner from, say… my kneecap?"

Albus smiled, "In theory, yes. But remember the very basics of spellcasting. A successful spell is completely dependent on someone's intent, which is invariably helped with a focal point to cast it. The more natural the focal point – such as a wand or a finger – the easier it is to cast the spell successfully. The only anomaly to this magical law is the eyes."

"Why?"

"Magic itself does have physical properties which are understood very little. But what little we do know is that it is harmful to the eyes."

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would you mind casting a spell from your elbow or something?"

Albus chuckled, still overwhelmed by Harry's calm and collected attitude at this meeting, "No Harry, I think some curiosities should be left to the youth. So I'm afraid I'll have to leave you to handle that one."

Harry smiled slightly.

"Why don't you try it over the summer?"

"But – "

"The Ministry can detect your wand's magic, Harry, not wandless. I took the liberty of convincing them to release that particular sensor on your house after the trial – no other student has this sensor."

Harry stood there somewhat gawking but replied "Yes sir, thank you. I'll be going now."

"Goodbye Harry, you're always welcome here."

"Goodbye Professor, thank you."

The sudden realization that Harry had not come here to ask him for help, but for means to help himself suddenly dawned upon him.

Perhaps the much needed equalizing factor he was looking for was coming. 

Blue magical lanterns – containing only light and not fire – provided library lighting between bookshelves. Their iridescence cast long blue shadows that gave a very aquarium-like atmosphere. Nothing seemed to be still as the flickering made a mirage of soundless waves.

Harry quickly realized he'd have to use his wand to light his way.

A few minutes of theoretical consideration, fourteen tries, another couple minutes of theoretical deliberation, and five more tries yielded one successful nonverbal lumos. Another couple minutes were donated to the puzzling of why it had worked the one time he hadn't directly been thinking about it.

Clearly he had been over-thinking the issue.

Right?

The success and confusion led to his first book coming from the realm of spell casting theory. Perhaps this would straighten things out.

Ten books later found Harry at one of the heavy oak desks writing on a piece of parchment the appropriate information to check out the books, which he laid on Madam Pince's desk.

Shrinking the books except for a couple that were impervious to such spells he began walking back to his dormitory, set on reading the books until breakfast. The anticipation he felt about reading was relatively indescribable… finally he understood Hermione's enthusiasm for such things. The books he was carrying could be the keys to so many things…

The Fat Lady let him in once more and he found himself once more staring at the chess board in the Common Room. Somehow earlier he had not noticed a white pawn one square away from the black's side.

How had he not noticed…

"Excuse me, whose turn is it?"

The white pawn jumped up and began to wipe the tiredness away from its eyes slowly, "Um, I believe *yawn* that it's my side's turn sir."

"Would you mind moving forward one step?"

"Ah, an excellent move sir!"

Once the pawn walked over it looked up in question and Harry merely nodded to the unsaid answer. The pawn immediately morphed into the most powerful piece on the board amidst the white pieces, of whom having waking up from the commotion, throatily cheering for the piece's emergence.

Harry sat himself down and began to read.

The new white chess piece now stood precariously within the reach of many deadly black chess pieces, but stood proud and tall.

The entire face of the game had changed.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N - Alright here's the second installation. Sorry for the long update wait. Check out the first chapter, a decent amount has been changed as I deemed it necessary, although the plot and sequence of events is much the same. A big shout out to Arish, HarnGin, and Lord Lelouchfor reviewing - I'm glad that the story instigated a response from you and I hope to keep to your standards. Please let me know if I do, or don't. Also another shout out (not _quite _so big) to the forty five people subscribing or adding this story to their favorites... wow! I thank you for the support.

Happy reading!

**The Hawk and the Nightingale**

_Chapter Two_

Remus sat in one of the many conference rooms at Hogwarts. To say he was on edge was a vast understatement. His Werewolf senses were on the utmost level, pushing the animal in him to the very surface. He'd been in this state for a couple weeks now, harboring a broiling, churning aggression that was many years in the making. It was growing fast, and he'd soon need some sort of release, but Remus wasn't worried.

He was looking forward to it.

Yet even now, wolf instincts trapped in the circular conference room he was not contained in, he could not help but admire the brilliance of Albus Dumbledore. Everyone was capable of producing a work of brilliance every once in a while, Remus himself could attest to this. But great men produced works of brilliance on an everyday basis. This was the difference between the good and the greats. Great men and women had layers. Their persona, their thoughts, their work, their very movements had layers – all inextricably tied in an irrefutable logic usually understood only by them.

Remus looked around.

The envoys of the vampires of Britain were poised to make their entrance at any moment. One of the princes and two body guards would be arriving. The short debriefing the day before had gone over the particulars of vampires in general. Vampires had unnatural speed, vision, and heightened senses much like Remus'. Their strength came not from brute strength, but from lean, lithe muscle moving with the torque given by their speed. Their resiliency to pain and death were legendary but a death blow was a death blow be it human or vampire. They were not magic practitioners with a wand but had a variety of other abilities. Their magic was partial to shadows and darkness.

Most importantly, Dumbledore had stated, was to remember that above anything vampires had a feral and cold-heartened look on the world. Their way of understanding and viewing the world was tapered by unnaturally long lives, unnatural abilities, and only limited association with beings outside of themselves. The act of applying human intuition or logic to a vampire was dangerous and would most likely cost you your life. The prince, Volkov, embodied many of the vampire stereotypes but apparently could connect quite cleanly with humans if he chose to. The bodyguards were simply lethal and were only there for that purpose.

The doors opened silently revealing the three emissaries, their pale handsome features surveying the room in front of them with cold indifference.

Remus and the others instantly rose – not too fast as instructed – in greeting. Remus reflected on the choice of the people present representing the Order. Hagrid, Snape, Kingsley, McGonagall, Flitwick, a large Auror named Trayden, and a lean man he knew to be well known in the underground named Harun. Dumbledore's choices were sound. Each person had a portion of their psyche that was decidedly _animal_. He was obvious, as was Hagrid and Flitwick. McGonagall had the instincts bestowed on her by her animagus abilities and Kingsley and the other two could be absolutely ruthless in a fight with instincts that vampires could identify and respect. The choices of people were chosen so as to have a group that would create a subconscious connection between the highly in-tune vampires. Even the room had been magically dimmed in benevolence and a silent act of parlay.

The room was without a table and completely circular. It angled out when going up and the light sources, which were magically controlled, shown from where the sides met the floor. The result was no shadows, no corners, and no darkness. If a burst of light was needed for defense, one would simply put the source on the ceiling and the light would literally flood the room with light. No place would offer the solace of shadows.

The vampires no doubt knew of a wide variety of Order Members and would note both the absence of a variety of key members – Mad Eye most notably – as well as the surprise appearances of the Auror Trayden and the dueler Harun that they would undoubtedly sense the power in. The message was clear. There were powerful people present that they knew but the new additions and strange absences were set to make the vampires questioning and insecure.

Layers.

Remus tried in vain to subdue his wolf instincts while the vampires made their way to their seats up front. Dumbledore followed at a respectable distance, allowing the vampires their comfort zone and entrance.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Volkov. All of us are pleased to have this meeting," Dumbledore intoned as soon as all were seated.

As if expecting Volkov's silence Dumbledore continued, "We wish to inform you of the information we know of the re-emergence of Tom Riddle, in interest of your clans."

Volkov embodied much of the vampires' heralded traits. He was tall and whip then, his form lithe and sinewy when he walked. When they had walked by Remus he had felt no breeze. From a distance Volkov could pose as a tall man, but upon closer inspection the unnatural palor of his skin gave him away.

Volkov's unblinking eyes narrowed and his silky voice intoned simply, "Tom Riddle?"

"It was the name Voldemort's muggle father gave to him before he took the namesake we know him as today."

Volkov sat silently for a moment, clearly mulling over the implications of Dumbledore's casual explanation, "We… were not aware of this."

"Many people are not. It is not something Tom would want to advertise I am sure."

"Obviously, obviously… but the Dark Lord, begotten by a… mere muggle? These are dangerous statements, Dumbledore. I have tendencies leaning towards doubt."

Dumbledore simply waved his hand in the air. The letters "Tom Marvelo Riddle" appeared in midair with low-light flames licking their borders. Another flick of his hand rearranged the letters spelling, "I am Lord Voldemort." The letters were vanished after their effect on the silent crowd. No one in the audience had known or seen this before.

"You may, as you know, think freely. But it was I who went to Tom to bring him to this world, taught him, and learned about him. Doubt as you see fit, but this is but a taste of the things we wish to inform you."

"True it may be but it does not change what he is now. But please… go on," said Volkov, his temper, perhaps, beginning to flare.

Dumbledore merely smiled slightly and continued, "It is our wish to make certain you know the dangers of any level of association with Tom Riddle."

"Vampires are more than capable of making our own decisions."

"I never mentioned decisions, Volkov, though I wonder what you are alluding to. But it is no matter, a decision is only as good as the information it was made from. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to listen."

By now Volkov's opaque eyes were starting to have a permanently narrowed look about them as he responded, "Pretty words Dumbledore, but useless to our ears. Speak what you want and but relinquish your lectures. I am by far the elder of you and yet still haven't the need for the petty wisdoms of an old man."

Dumbledore ignored the vampire's jibes, "Now if I were Tom Riddle, or if you wish, the Dark Lord, and you sat before me such how might he carry on? Have you any idea?"

The thin lips of the vampires only tightened.

"Promises of glory, promises of a new world and order, cemented with a display of power and perhaps a token of allegiance would be my guess."

The darkening color of the vampires' eyes all but solidified Dumbledore's guess.

"And yet… here you are being offered truth and information while Tom gives _promises_. Promises… if you take anything home with you today Volkov, remember that promises are something that _friends_ make, or more commonly people on the same side. More prudently, perhaps you should know that Voldemort has _never_ had friends or allies. Not as a child, not as a school boy, not as an adult, and certainly not as a Dark Lord. He only has servants."

Dumbledore by this time had locked onto the eyes of Volkov.

"And only then are they servants until they have served their purpose or are a threat. They are then exterminated."

Volkov could be seen to be breathing very, very slowly. The laborious heaves of his breathing a contradiction with his cold, indifferent exterior.

"Such baseless _accusations_, Dumbledore. Perhaps we are not the ones to be lectured on uninformed decisions."

"Never once have I accused you of anything, Volkov. Merely cautioned. I speak with intimate knowledge of Tom and must impress upon you danger this man has on life. He is an anomaly to the natural order of things, an abomination, _this_ at least you can sense."

"We sense nothing Dumbledore."

"I never once presumed you've had the opportunity to sense, Volkov."

The other two Vampires' fangs shot out of their mouth and they hissed in anger. Volkov didn't even try to deny and simply responded "You'd be a fool to think otherwise, Dumbledore."

"Ignorance is a fool's most infamous trait, I am aware. Use our warning, Volkov. Trust me when I say your existence may depend on it."

"I might say the same Dumbledore. We are done here."

"I trust you don't need escort?"

The members of the Order of the Phoenix stood up as the vampires silently left the room, their cold fury palpable. When the door closed, the edge everyone had been on dulled a little and their subconscious stances of defense relaxed, but everyone outside of Dumbledore was still shocked at the short and disastrous meeting that had just occurred.

Kingsley's deep low voice cut the silence with a tad of humor, "I don't think they'll be joining us anytime soon Dumbledore."

Dumbledore smiled, "Oh no, that was never in question."

Harun, who was sitting relaxed in steady in his chair, twirled his wand with blinding fixation in his hand. His rhythmic cadence did not stop or pause as he asked Dumbledore his question, "So they'll be joining Voldemort?"

"No," stated Dumbledore simply, "they already have. Over three months ago, in fact."

Silence once again ran rampant throughout the room. Everyone contemplating Dumbledore's cryptic comments.

Layers.

"And yet," said Dumbledore cheerily, as he waved his arms to restore the room's square shape and table, "It could not have gone any better."

Remus shook his head in silent disbelief.

Dumbledore was in his element. He was having _fun_.

"Did I mention that vampires also serve nobody but themselves?" Dumbledore suddenly stated, "This is the first time in over three centuries they've allied with someone. It is indeed an enormous event, and exceedingly precarious. They hate being controlled, as they have strong prejudices against other races – most notably muggles."

Remus began to see the full picture at this point as Dumbledore continued, "The Prince takes home today not only the knowledge of Tom's muggle heritage – and he knows I would not lie – as well as the idea that Voldemort believes himself to be mightier and deserves to control them. This will wear upon their pride more than can be imagined."

Dumbledore sounded to Remus like a chess master describing his strategy after a victory. A unique and potent fire had been inflamed within Dumbledore lately and especially today. It had not been evident in the last war against Voldemort. Indeed, older members of the Order said it was this absence that began to make people aware of his old age and doubt the outcome of the war. Something or someone had ignited this once more. The Dumbledore of old was back. As great leaders have a tendency to do, Remus began to feel Dumbledore's fervor become his own.

A certain strength and purpose shaped his already pent up emotions.

A determined glean appeared in his eyes as he took his leave and walked towards the apparition point on the Hogwarts grounds. It was time to patrol and guard the house of his best friend's child.

Harry sat with his back to the wall at the top of the stairs. He peered through banister below watching the Dursley's have their traditional television dinner. All three of them sat on a single sofa watching some sort of Pro Wrestling program while digging in with uncommon gusto into what looked like several chicken dinners.

"Oooh Duds you must learn that move for next year's championships! The crowd will love it, won't they my little fighter," crooned Petunia.

Vernon agreed with a smile that looked like a grimace to Harry, and thumped Dudley's massive back with his hand heartily, "That's my boy, the heavyweight champion! Dig in boy, dig in, can't have you thinning out."

Dudley immediately stuffed one of the drumsticks from Petunia's plate into his mouth and managed to speak in between his gnashing, "The kids next year won't stand a chance! I don't even know why they even bother to show up if they're going to lose. _I_ wouldn't show up if I were them... Ha! You should see their pathetic faces!"

Vernon and Petunia vigorously agreed while placing more of their own food on Dudley's plate while Dudley gloated and glowed with pride and self-confidence.

Petunia suddenly stood up, her face glowing. Harry, with years of experience already knew what was coming – he had seen in a million (perhaps literally) times before… Dudley was going to get a gift.

And by the looks of it, a pretty big one. Petunia could barely contain herself and was subconsciously flattening her floral dress and looking at Vernon excitedly.

"Dudders, for your amazing performance last week and being the best son any parents could ask for Vernon and I decided to reward you!"

Dudley was in rapt attention, but still managing to eat. Priorities, priorities…

"But it's just a little too big to fit in here, so we'll have to go outside in the driveway for you to see it…"

Dudley surged out of the couch, knocking the television dinner tables down and lumbered out the door with surprising speed, without even a thought of giving thanks. He was yelling something about a "convertible" and a "V8" while Petunia and Vernon quickly bumbled after him, slamming the door shut in their excitement.

Harry could hear the Dursleys' excited talking through the walls in a muffled fashion. The roar of an engine and the remaining silence signaled his now solitary presence in the house.

Harry stood up.

He'd given up long ago pondering the thoughts that were coming to his head and wondered at their sudden appearance. The word "family" had always been a bit of an obscure and convoluted term for him. The connotations that came with the word for most people simply did not apply for Harry.

The Weasley family had changed that. They had immersed Harry in what _really_ constituted a family – the hard work, the pride, the love, and the unstoppable force of a family working together. All the petty things such as sibling rivalry and teenage drama went completely out the window when one of their own was in danger. Ginny in second year, Ron's injuries at the Ministry this past year, and Arthur's incident as well had provided proof for that. The love and care they showed had simply redefined "family" for Harry.

Afterwards it didn't take much of a leap for Harry to notice that the Dursleys, no matter how messed up their version of it was, possessed the same qualities. He had never noticed their high functionality as a family before because he had always incorporated himself in the equation. Take him out, and 'wala,' a deep caring and providing family.

Harry walked down the stairs, stooping below the banister on the way down, belying the couple inches he had already grown this summer.

Harry took a good look at the house he referred to as 'home'. It was immaculately clean. Yet despite the cleanliness, there was nothing extraordinary or differentiating than what Harry knew the other houses on the lane had in them as well. The same furniture, the same layout, the same type of grandfather clock bought at the so-called antique stores a couple miles down.

Above the fireplace was a timeline of Dudley's pictures. Each had Dudley's smarmy face smiling with smug satisfaction. One even had Dudley posing in a shirt that was originally Harry's, but had been taken once Dudley liked it better than the one he got. Dudley's heavyweight championship trophy towered over the room from its resting place on top of the fireplace mantle. A picture of Vernon and Petunia posing with him after the win, all of them smiling winningly sat next to it. The love and dedication that Petunia and Vernon held for Dudley was easily evident.

Harry never really questioned why the Dursley's hated him so much. Wasn't he family? He was Petunia's sister's child. Yet, if one were to tour this house they would never know he existed. The amount of prejudice and hate required to allow parents the enjoyment of watching their son beat up a blood relative was astounding.

Harry's eyes caught a glimpse of the cupboard that had been his 'room' for ten years. His eyes closed reminiscing in the hunger he had felt day after day, the fear of walking in and around his own home, as well as being acutely aware as only a child can of the bitter reality of being hated, unloved.

The appearance of Sirius had allayed this barely hidden sadness and anger in that he finally represented to Harry what the Dursleys never could and what the Weasleys got close to doing but could not quite pull off – family. Sirius had lived through and understood the feeling of a shattered conception of home. However, that dream, that personal salvation was now gone.

Harry wandlessly and silently summoned the trashcan and began to partially summon the food contents that were on the floor into the trash.

He'd taken his studying seriously this summer. His wandless abilities had garnered up a repetiour almost up to his fourth year spells and then some random ones Harry had found in the books he'd brought home. Theory had helped. His wandless and silent spells were mostly limited to spells Harry already had gained a deep proficiency in before this summer.

His chores had been minimal, due to Mad Eye scaring the living hell out of the Dursleys at the beginning of the summer. As a result he was now elevated to the status of ignored part-time servant.

A roar of an engine caused him to turn and look out the window, just catching Dudley fly by in a sporty black convertible with Vernon and Petunia in the back seat smiling widely. Dudley's greedy laughter somehow transcending the engine's roar.

Harry's mood turned dark as he finished his cleaning job. How many nights had he been holed up listening to that laugh? All the while knowing Dudley was reveling in some new gift while Harry had the darkness of his cupboard to tend to his imagination.

It seemed to Harry that all fifteen of Dudley's portraits were now jeering at him, making him remember the torment he had had to put up with over the years. The constant beatings, the jeering derision, the constant disappointment… each picture represented a host of black and embarrassing memories for that particular year, all flashing with astonishing clarity in his mind. Harry shook his head in anger and barely contained desperation.

Harry had had enough.

The summer had taught him the many advantages of silent casting. But sometimes, sometimes, it just felt _good_ to say the words that wrapped ones magical intent. Harry raised his hand, his eyes locking onto Dudley's first picture – the one that so wonderfully brought up memories of Dudley stealing his toys, pounding on his cupboard door, and screaming in his face…

"_Diffindo."_

"_Diffindo."_

"_Diffindo."_

Fifteen times Harry hissed with murderous intent the words to crack, splinter, and shatter each of portraits enshrining Dudley's fat, fucking face.

"_Diffindo."_

"_Diffindo."_

"_DIFFINDO!"_

Harry's breathing was heavy. He needed to cool down, and fast. The room was pin-cushioned and littered with glass fragments, but at this moment Harry couldn't even pretend to care. Harry banished the trash can to the kitchen, where it landed fallen over and spinning on the kitchen floor. He needed a long walk. _Now._

Just as Harry was about to shut the door he spun around slowly.

He'd almost forgot.

"_Reducto!"_

The door shut just before the fragments of Dudley's trophy burst through. Harry noted through his red haze that he had never practiced or tried that particular spell this summer.

_Hmm_.

He must be improving.

Harry ran a distracted hand through his tousled hair. It had been well over two hours since he had left the Dursleys' house and it had finally been enough to time for him to cool down.

It had not been enough time, however, to feel guilty about his actions. In fact, he doubted any amount of time could procure that particular emotion.

He did hope his elementary wards, locking spell, and anti-muggle charms on his room would deter the Dursleys from entering his room wishing for some kind of vengeance. He had put them up on his room since it was a menagerie of magical books and bore the remnants of him practicing magic every day.

Harry also knew that the Order had no doubt witnessed and reported his actions and current location. Harry couldn't be bothered, accepting it as a necessary evil. Despite them not showing themselves, Harry had managed to notice and note the habits and routines of the Order. There were always several guards around the mile perimeter and one guard around his house at all times. Harry's seeker abilities coupled with a few stray spells he learned had aided him in the uprooting of this information.

The park bench he sat on was obscenely yellow. Harry longed to change its color but refrained.

He stood up and began to wander around the edge of the park. He liked this area the most, because it was the most untamed. In a subdivision where all houses looked alike and conformity was essentially the name of the game, the rough and uncut portions of this park offered a sort of oasis for Harry – who had never once had the chance of conformity in this subdivision or any other place.

It was also where he could sometimes spot or detect Order members.

The strange timing of this thought haunted him for many years.

A blazing red light pierced the air to his right and a figure flew through the air and crashed into a tree trunk, spinning the body haphazardly. Purple hair slowly morphing to black told Harry who it was. He could hear movement and speaking from somewhere very near but could not see anyone. Were the wards obscuring his vision?

"Tonks. _Tonks_! Are you okay – look at me!" Harry said as he reached her strewn body. Her right foot was obscured from what Harry knew to be an invisible cloak. He figured it was tethered to her foot in case of a calamity like this to prevent from losing it.

She looked to only be stunned, but the tree bark and gouged her face and blood was oozing out. Harry's wand was in his pocket, but last year's event still prevented him from using it, even in this dire situation. Harry concentrated, he'd never casted the _enervate_ spell without a wand.

Theory and intution told him it would be difficult – to wrap your mind around such a task as reviving a living being… he didn't have much time…

"_Enervate!"_

Nothing.

Harry recomposed himself, eyes blazing with concentration. But he was a moment too late. A short shout on the outside of the barrier, murmered as it was, Harry was able to recognize instantly – the summoning spell.

His barely constructed shielding spell was broken by the summoning spell and Tonks' body flew out of his hands towards the outside of the park boundaries. Harry whipped around furious at his failure – he was losing yet another person in his life.

Taking careful aim, he casted one more time.

"_ENERVATE!"_

His cast was true, and he saw Tonks' body quiver. For one single agonizing moment his eyes locked with Tonks' as she flew out of his vision, her eyes wide in shock and pain. Her tethered invisibility cloak spun wildly, making her look like a vision seen through spinning blade on a room fan.

And with that she was gone.

A moment's hesitation later Harry whipped out his wand. Having no qualms whatsoever of the ministry coming, and hoping it would be enough to attract the other Order Members, Harry cast the Patronus Charm. Prongs bolted out of his wand with frightening speed and began prancing all about the park, beckoning towards his direction with its antlers.

Breaking concentration he spun around and charged into the barrier, a blue _Protego_ shield blazing in front of him.

He felt the wards as though it were a warm rain that went instantly dry as he left them.

Instantly three unknown spells impacted his shield, shattering it. Harry dived and rolled behind a high road curb. Two large cracks heralded the arrival of two people. Harry's heart surged with hope as he saw Dedelus Diggle and Remus Lupin appear, wands blazing.

Harry hastily brought up another shield as he took in his situation. There were four death eaters. Remus Lupin was now dueling two of them, his face set and his arms barely discernable as he battled furiously. Harry could tell he was slowly trying to make his way to him. Diggle was dueling one death eater and the other death eater, Harry noticed with a pang, was dragging a bloodied and unconscious Tonks away from the scene.

Harry's path of action became very clear. Harry aimed and shot a stunner that clipped the death eater on the right shoulder, effectively making him let go of Tonks' hand and drop to the floor. He had barely hit him, but it had been a shot over 60 feet long. It was enough.

A cry to his left signaled Diggle's fall, having been hit with some sort of slicing curse on the abdomen and subsequently stunned. The victorious death eater turned towards Lupin. Harry sprinted casting spells haphazardly purely for distraction as he made it facing back to back with Lupin.

The three death eaters circled, shooting spells at increasing speeds.

This was not the Ministry fight where he had had the advantage of holding the prophecy. Harry now knew that that simple advantage had stilled the use of a host of offensive spells from the Death Eaters. Harry could barely fit an offensive spell in as he was blocking and twisting away spells that he knew probably only ten percent of. This was a firefight – dirty, dangerous, and purely instinctual.

Lupin was still mostly battling two Death Eaters and Harry the other one, though each had saved the other multiple times from spells that they hadn't seen coming.

Harry suddenly saw his opening. The other two death eaters had been maneuvered by Lupin to be for the most part directly behind him – meaning Lupin was in their shooting path and the third death eater directly in front of Harry. Stepping away from Lupin he began pinning the death eater with stunning spells turning the offensive tide to him. In a sudden burst of inspiration Harry erected a shielding spell with his left hand and nearly simultaneously shot a _petrificus totalus_ with is wand hand. The death eater had been expecting the normal half second pause from one spell to another from the same hand and was thrown off by the timing, his body clunking on the floor as a result.

Harry had barely made it back to Remus when he felt a searing cut on his back, yelling out in pain. He caught the death eater he had just decapitated with his wand raised.

Remus shouted, "This is a _war_ Harry! Schoolboy spells aren't going to work here! Grow up or else we die!"

He grunted as he barely avoided a blazing yellow spell, "You don't _petrificus totalus_ a death eater Harry!" Another grunt as a slicing curse hit his left arm. "If you take him down, Harry, Take. Him. DOWN!"

Another curse hit Remus in the legs, causing him to buckle but still managed to stay up. Harry was reeling from the verbal lash and turned with newfound ferocity on the sneering death eater in front of him. Wild ambition took him as he shot stunning spell, reducto spell directly in front of the man and summoned a branch from behind the death eater. The death eater blocked the stunning spell but stumbled backwards from the explosion of the dirt and into the flying branch. Harry immediately paralyzed, stunned and uttered a spell normally used for rupturing holes in heavily packaged items such as crates.

"_PENDA!" _

The death eater's body twitched as blood began to ooze at a frightening pace. Harry gave it little thought as he turned into Remus' fight. Remus was looking near exhaustion and blood flowed from a variety of wounds. Harry himself was quite tired but entered the fray with gusto. Remus looked at him his face grimacing, "_That _was more like it."

The fight had evened but it was clear these death eaters were much more proficient then the last.

Four cracks pierced the battle and Mad Eye Moody, a lean man Harry didn't recognize, Hestia Jones, and Bill Weasley appeared. They quickly dispatched the two remaining death eaters.

But before any greetings or congratulations could be said, Mad Eye intoned "I wouldn't celebrate yet."

His hand pointed to where Harry had dropped the first death eater. He was no longer on the ground. He was dragging Tonks, presumably to an apparition point. Tonks was not looking good. Her blood loss, from the trail it left on the ground was enormous and her face was out cold. She needed help very soon or else death was imminent. Harry felt a cold fury once again grasp his heart.

The death eater had noticed them and pointed a wand at Tonks' throat. "Don't Move! Don't move, I'll kill her I swear I will!"

The Order members immediately froze. Only Mad Eye seemed unaffected, "Just let her go laddie, you've already failed here."

"I need her! I need her!" It was clear this death eater was new, inexperienced, and scared out of his mind.

"Tell you what son, I'll trade you this guy for our girl you got there." Harry saw that he was talking about the man Harry had put down ruthlessly earlier.

"No! He won't care… I have to take her… let me go! I'll kill her!"

"Yes lad, you've mentioned that a couple times but what if we were to give you back two of these guys, perhaps three? Sound good to you?"

The death eater had now pulled up Tonks as a complete shield in front of him, his quivering hands holding his wand precariously to her neck. He had, Harry noticed, obscured his view of all of the members in his hurry to get to the apparition point.

Moody had noticed also, and looked at Harry with his magical eye intensely. Harry was confused. Out of all the experienced members he was looking at him. Why? Sudden realization came to him. All of the members were in plain, direct sight of the death eater. He, however, was partially obscured from the death eater's vision by Bill Weasley's body. Harry nodded his head once very slowly in understanding and Mad Eye swiveled his eye around and continued talking, but Harry had zoned him out, completely concentrating at the task at hand.

His duel had lessened the distance from the death eater significantly but the death eater was moving away and still posed around a 30 foot shot. He was occluded from his view but not completely. He'd have to be quick. Really quick. Also, he couldn't afford to yell the curse – at this distance the noise would be more than enough of a warning for the death eater to react. Harry vaguely registered the lean unknown man slowly inching to his right.

What spell to use? Harry's mind flitted with possibilities. A stunning or any other brute force spell would not suffice. Its area of impact was too wide and he could not risk hitting Tonks in the state she was in. Anything more would probably kill her. The spell would also have to be colorless. The less warning the better. Harry had made his mind. The choice was clear.

Mad Eye swiveled his electric blue eye. Harry had to act now. The death eater was beginning to panic and was shuffling with Tonks' body quicker. His body was relatively stable, not bobbing too much in an effort to keep his body protected as possible. Harry had to take him out. The clearest most open part of his body was his head, a large crescent behind Tonks' head. Harry breath caught in his chest as he readied himself for the shot.

Seeker eyes honed in on the area right above the death eater's bloodshot right eye, and he took a quick powerful step forward – his arcing wand moving with feline fluidity and deathly purpose as his mind silently said the chosen word of the moment.

_PENDA!_

Harry felt the spell come out of his wand and watched with morbid fascination and hope as the invisible spell made its way across the fighting arena.

Sometimes you just _know_.

The back of the death eater's head exploded in a gush of red as his head whiplashed violently, his body crumpling to the ground. The Order sprang into action, some apprehending the fallen death eaters and the others running towards Tonks running diagnostic spells and doing what healing they could.

Harry stood still, breathing slow and heavy.

It had been necessary, right?

Mad Eye shook him out of his stupor, "Helluva shot kid, helluva shot. One for the ages, that one." The grizzley Auror shuffled off and Harry could feel the lean man peering at him curiously but he could barely process the fact.

It had been necessary, right?

The death eater's blood had reached epic proportions outside of his body and Harry could see the gaping hole in the exact area he had aimed at.

Similar, in fact, to the hole that Harry felt in his stomach right now.

Things… were not going to be the same. The hallow, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach told him this.

It had been necessary, right?

Lupin came up and put an arm around him, "You did exceptionally well today Harry, really well. You saved Tonks' life today. You did what you had to. James and Sirius would be enormously proud of you, as I'm sure they already are."

Harry merely nodded, unable to form words. Lupin was right… he'd saved a life. He killed… to save a life. He killed… to save a life. A burning ambition began to fill the hole in his stomach, his realization gaining speed as he noted that this time he had prevented a cared one from dying, unlike Sirius.

He had killed… to save a life.

He could live with that.


End file.
